


Finding the Cracks

by fightableomo



Series: Little Witcher [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: CG/L, Dd/lb, Diapers, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightableomo/pseuds/fightableomo
Summary: A retelling of Jaskier and Geralt's rocky start to their cg/l relationship.This is a nonsexual kink fic, please read the tags and understand them before reading.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Little Witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641898
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	Finding the Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Blegh
> 
> A couple people have said they'd enjoy reading the same things I've written but from Jaskier's POV. I tried. I don't really have any muse rn, but here you go. Feel free to leave requests. Heaven knows it's a gamble if I even write them.

Jaskier didn’t claim to be a master of psychology or whatever. Sure, he could pick up on body language, facial features and careful word choice like a champ, but he didn’t consider himself above par. Until, that is, he met Geralt. 

After picking up on the measured movements and words of the man, Jaskier could now proudly claim to be a master of psychology, specifically that of illusive witchers. With his new-found talent of figuring out Geralt with the slightest of glances, he rarely had to ask for clarification or wonder. Again, until Geralt did something and threw off the script. 

Something was. Off. Jaskier could tell the second he woke up. It wasn’t wrong or bad, just different. And he couldn’t exactly place it. Until he could. 

Those off moments, they were cracks. Jaskier was sure of it. There were definitely cracks. He didn’t know what was cracking, or what he was looking at when the ships fell away to reveal a significantly softer veneer. 

Geralt’s eyes would seemingly widen and his voice go softer if not leave all the way, leaving the large man nonverbal. He looked small in those moments. Somehow not taking up his entire body and needing someone there just to make sure he was safe. 

Whatever it was, Jaskier wanted to see more of it. 

So, Jaskier set out to find what exactly he saw between the cracks, and what triggered it. And he started making connections. 

It only ever happened when they were staying in a town. Geralt would be bathed, and on the days where they didn’t have sex, they’d cuddle. Those nights were the closest Jaskier got to seeing what was behind the facade for a long time. 

And then Geralt started wetting the bed. And Geralt seemed even smaller, especially when Jaskier threatened to diaper him, and actually had to go through with that threat. 

He knew Geralt knew how to pin the muslin round his waist. And he hadn’t planned on helping until it came time to put on the pilch. But then Geralt looked up at him, actually having to cast his gaze up as previously he had been staring at the floor. And he asked for help in that stiff way of his. 

How could Jaskier say no? So, he diapered him up, and when the time came, he took a step back to admire his handiwork and specifically how it looked on the witcher. 

His face lit up like a bonfire. He had to bring a hand up to cover the lower half of his face in an attempt to hide the flush. It was just a diaper. He’d seen Geralt diapered before. Granted, that was only once and for just a second before he tore the nappy off. And he had seen Geralt in all manner of compromising positions before. Naked and draped across a desk for his pleasure. But none of that was the same as what he was feeling at that moment. 

His heart ached with a paternal love. Geralt was just so cute, looking so unsure and padded. The man looked like he was begging for Jaskier to reassure him and comfort him. And that’s exactly what he’d do. 

Stepping closer to the foot of the bed, Jaskier took Geralt into his arms and kissed the top of his head, “You have no business looking this cute.” 

Geralt didn’t push him off. Instead he let Jaskier hold him until he was satisfied. They then laid in bed, spooning like normal. Though this time instead of falling straight asleep, he laid awake, just thinking. 

His thoughts were turned to Geralt in his cute diaper. He’d seen the man piss himself several times before. And he normally didn’t care for it. He was kind about it, and teasing at times, but he hardly thought of himself as someone who was into any of that stuff. For gods’ sake, he was the one to put Geralt in a diaper to prevent himself from getting pissed on. Again. 

But his thoughts kept turning to Geralt, and Geralt peeing his diaper, and Geralt asking quietly for a change, and Geralt needing him. 

There was something nice in knowing that this big strong witcher might need Jaskier to take care of him. To pat his bum and remind him he’s padded and small, and to wipe his tears away and sooth his mind with soft words. For whatever reason, those thoughts brought a warm flush to his cheeks. 

Jaskier dozed off, thinking soft thoughts like that. 

And from then on out, Jaskier knew what the cracks were, or rather what they revealed. They showed some part of Geralt that knew the vulnerability of depending on another person. And so badly did the bard want to be the person depended on. 

Every time he saw Geralt starting to crack, or even just opportunities to patronize and tease him, he would. Every time, he searched the other’s face for a sign of that wide eyed vulnerability. And if he saw it, he pounced. He liked to think of himself as very doting, and seeing Geralt so cute only made that worse. 

He learned to judge when it was safe to start being physical with the witcher. Once he coaxed the vulnerable little side out of its shell, he’d go in, playing with his hair, hand on leg, hand holding, little hugs and hip bumps and affirming squeezes. Anything to make Geralt think of him as paternal, or at least someone to be safe around. 

Once Geralt’s little side no longer needed coaxing out, Jaskier went straight into cuddling him, then to calling himself daddy. 

That was the hardest change, especially because it was so abrupt. 

“I just wanted to make sure, love. You can’t blame Daddy for being too careful.”

That word stopped Geralt in his tracks. He looked back at the bard, something fierce poking through the momentary confusion, “What did you just say?”

“Daddy? Oh please, like you’ve never heard that in any sense other than biological. Girls call me daddy all the time.”

His nostrils flared. “I’m not some squealing farm girl with wet panties, Jaskier. You may not call yourself daddy in any relation with me.”

He rolled his eyes, “You’re fussy.”

“I’m an adult.”

Another eye roll followed, “Whatever. But if you’re going to get mad at me for putting a title to the service I already provide you, you should really blame Yennefer. She called me your daddy first. She let me know you had come looking for your daddy in wet and messy pants.”

A flush traveled up Geralt’s neck and into his ears, “I hardly see how her teasing words are any grounds for you to knight yourself with such a title.”

“Well, you seem head over heels for that damned witch, I’m surprised you would disagree with her in any way.”

“Lust has no bearing on logic for me, unlike you.”

“I’ve never been lusty, only in love.” That was a lie. “Love can do all manner of things to one’s mind. But, let’s just agree to disagree. I’ll call myself daddy, and you can call me whatever you want.”

“I think I’m rather fond of sticking with ‘bard’.”

“That’s cute. Ask the bard to change your wet nappies. So impersonal, Geralt.”

“I’d rather impersonal than to call you daddy.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel big right now, we’ll see how you feel when you’re little and need daddy.”

“You’re never going to get me little again if you call yourself daddy.” Geralt bluffed. He kn ew it was a bluff, and so did Jaskier. 

He succumbed to Jaskier’s soft coaxing later that night. The light physical attention and down talking really got him little. And Jaskier’s voice lowered, no longer sardonic but sweet as he called himself daddy. 

And from then on out, it was cemented. Jaskier was Daddy, and Geralt was just his little boy. And nothing could make Jaskier happier than that.


End file.
